Spawn Of The Devil
by Angel Commando
Summary: The war between the Joes and Cobra rages on. Like a game of chess, new players enter the battlefield to face-off. A monster has been revealed, bloodthirsty and unstoppable. How will the Joes be able to stop such a force? Much less, attempt to redeem it?


**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters for G.I. Joe. Only my OC's. So I didn't, like, steal them or anything. Because that would be like, bad, y'know?

**Description**: The war between Cobra and the Joes rages on. Like a game of chess, new players enter the playing field to face-off. A monster has been revealed, bloodthirsty and unstoppable. How will the Joes be able to stop such a force? Much less, attempt to redeem it.

**Rating**: M (may go up further in later chapters.)

* * *

Cobra Commander was one of the most powerful men in the world.

His influence stretched far and wide, his funding nothing short of jaw-dropping. People who shared his interests became something closer than the average soldier, but this was a man who was never too careful. He was not known for his kindness; mercy and forgiveness were two traits that seemed alien to him. It was this way that he had survived through the years, some unseen motive for hate or revenge driving his needs. Nobody knew exactly why Cobra Commander acted as he did; but some people had theories. Those that did, however, had chatted to the wrong person.

Anybody who dared disrespect Cobra was quickly put to rest.

His bases never altered much in design unless they were in different environments -- therefore, change was imminent. Cobra Commander had constructed one of his most elaborate bases somewhere underground, although the exact location was never revealed to the staff. Not even the Troopers were aware of where they were in the world -- not exactly. This was where Cobra Commander could be located, amongst brightly-glowing purple screens, all marked with the same hissing logo.

Even these bases; so expensive in cost and management, required work. Overkill supplied drones to do the more heavier labor, but still Troopers could be heard scraping around outside of heavy sound-proof blast doors. Cobra Commander sat on his "throne", one hand perched up, supporting the side of his helmet. Nobody had ever seen Cobra Commander's face, and to that certain man, it was going to stay that way.

The air was quiet with murmuring, but people still went about chattering. Baroness was engaged in conversation with Destro -- presumably something about "covering up a weapons' move with a media coverage" and Storm Shadow could actually be seen present. The ninja was away from everyone, arms crossed over his chest, silent and still. Some Troopers swore that he was dead, and any second he'd just topple over. That was never the case, however, so many betting pools were always shot when the ninja came back from a mission alive.

Cobra Commander's snake-like eyes peered at them all. His gaze was piercing and utterly harsh -- the smallest mistake could mean a broken arm or stopped heart. Today, however, Cobra Commander seemed to be in an incredibly lenient mood. This was a rarity, and many of the Troopers were nothing but skittish bugs as they moved about, typing at computer consoles. Instead of a serious, thick, military-like air that normally clung to every spare inch of the Cobra establishment. . . It seemed relaxed.

Baroness, from her perch on a chair in the main throne room, shook her head -- and with a flamboyant hair flick, gazed at Cobra Commander through lowered lashes and thin, stylish glasses. Her gaze almost looked concerned. In all of her years for working in Cobra, the Commander had never once looked like this.

"What worries you, dear Baroness?" Destro's voice rang out, a deep baritone, yet oddly quiet in the still room. Baroness turned back to Destro, moving her head only slightly.

"Cobra Commander," She replied, her voice thick with accented syllables, "is not acting as he should be. He has never let a Trooper live after crashing a computer program."

Destro sat back, his own plush chair supporting him, a glass cup of fine, incredibly expensive, liquor in his wide hand, "An odd contradiction to the Commander we know, my dear. Nevertheless, I do believe I know the cause."

Baroness knew the look he was giving her. Basically the look that said, "ask me. I might tell." It was the look that led her to flirty, teenager mannerisms, and only then would she get what she wanted. Turning her full attention to Destro, she gave him a smile -- involving every one of her pearly whites, eyes smoldering with near-believable affections.

"Come now, dear Destro. Don't be such a tease, darling," She laid emphasis on the words, eyes closing slightly, giving her a half-lidded look, "You know I'm not accustomed to not knowing."

Destro seem to give her a smug look, apparently liking his power over her for the moment, and smiled smugly at her. Lifting the cup to his lips, he took a drink, and then settled back down, crossing one leg over the other, toying with the cup.

"His new play toy, my dear Baroness. The new doctor who believes he's a ninja. Apparently he's bringing our dear Commander a present of incredible value." He spoke slowly, lifting his eyes from the cup to her face to read her expression.

Baroness was looking rather disgusted, on top of being annoyed. She gave her hair another angry flick, before scowling at Destro. She didn't like this new piece of news. In fact, she rather hated Dr. Mizikaki. A new "employee" to Cobra, he seemed to have excelled at sucking up to Cobra Commander. The man did nothing but idolize the Commander, and nobody thought he minded much. Now the dog was going to bring its' master a bone. Disgusting. Baroness folded herself up among the couch, glowering at the bottle of expensive liquor on the table. If only there were some way to crush that man's spirit, she wouldn't have to worry about him so much.

Baroness didn't mean she liked Mizikaki. No, in fact, she hated the man. Just because he'd lost his wife in some sort of accident, and Cobra had been there for him, it turned him into a pathetic dog. The man had no spine at all. He just nodded and agreed with whatever the Commander said.

"Don't look so displeased, my dear. It's quite unbecoming of you." She returned her gaze to Destro, and then decided he was right. A small spark of smugness began to trickle into her stomach, and she gave a rather nasty grin towards the metal man.

"There isn't anything in the world Cobra Commander doesn't already possess. Mizikaki is now an even greater fool than I once believed him to be." She gave a glance towards Destro, now almost eager to see when Cobra Commander would receive his gift.

The most powerful people fell down when humility was at its' peak.

Destro gave a small laugh, taking another sip of his drink, "My dear Baroness, you have that look in your eye again. Don't injure a man's ego too much, dear. It has a tendency to inflate bad results."

All he received for his troubles was a rather challenging and cat-like look.

The blast doors slid open, suddenly, and Mizikaki entered -- although he was looking worse for wear. The man might have been able to claim the title of doctor, but it did not seem to match his appearance. Short hair kept cut neatly about his face -- never greasy. This man seemed to have an inkling of pride in his appearance. Glasses could normally be seen perched on the bridge of his nose, but today they were not there. Blue eyes -- almost as harsh as the Commanders -- looked about the throne room. He was tall, over six feet, and had defined muscles. He trained in some form of martial arts, sometimes even having whatever those blasted ninja weapons were.

He'd been wearing a crisp outfit the last time any of the Cobra group had seen him. Combat boots, military-styled pants, a flak vest worn over what seemed to be a short-sleeved shirt. Currently, though, one could say, "he looked like hell" and mean it. The pants had been torn up and sliced into pieces, the flak jacket ripped and unzipped to reveal his chest, and his right arm had been bandaged hastily. A hectic glitter was in his eyes, but one could see a cold sliver a triumph that was apparent as he stared at them all. Blue eyes finally locked with the Commander, and he gave a grin.

"I apologize deeply for my rude entrance, Commander. I had some. . . Trouble acquiring the gift that I brought for you. So to speak, it doesn't like being touched."

"Mizikaki," Cobra Commander's voice rasped over the room, sounding just like a snake himself, "you've kept me waiting long enough. I don't wish to fill this time with idle chatter."

Mizikaki, in return, only grinned, ignoring the warning in the Commander's tone, "Don't worry, Commander. I promise you that my gift is invaluable. I only ask that you allow me some time to speak with you," He glanced about the room then, taking in the Cobra staff, ". . . in more private quarters."

Cobra Commander examined Mizikaki crucially for a moment, but he remained silent. Mizikaki's nerve was not broken, for the silence contest between the two stretched on. . . . And on. . . Until finally Cobra Commander waved his free hand dismissively, "That might be a possibility."

Mizikaki nodded his head, and placing a hand over his wounded arm, he looked about the room once more. He spotted a rogue trooper in the room. Calling him over, he pulled his shoulder down, murmuring a quick set of orders into his ear. The trooper nodded, and then scampered off, rounding up four others and disappearing through the blast doors. Mizikaki ran a shaky hand through his hair, inhaling and then exhaling. Something was jittering his nerves, and nobody could fully tell what.

"All I ask is anyone but the Troopers remain a distance of twelve feet away. Any closer, and you might be finding your torso on the floor."

Cryptic as it was, Mizikaki's "gift" was brought in not moments later.

Chains, thick, heavy, and made a incredibly strong alloys, dragged across the floor. The storm troopers all had at least one of the leashes of chain to help drag the gift into the room, although what was trapped and bundled under al of those chains gave a jolt to everyone in the room. Five hoops in the floor served to leash the gift to the floor, but the storm troopers remained near, as were orders. Pulls and tugs on the chains supported a constant noise, but nothing escaped from the gift. Not one sound.

Cobra Commander suddenly straightened, eyes glaring down at Mizikaki, "Are you _mocking_ me?" He demanded, tone suddenly flinch-worthy and unforgiving.

Mizkaki just placed his hand up in the air, "Wait one moment, Commander. I promise you, my gift to you is invaluable. Let me show you a short demonstration. Please, Commander. I went through a lot of trouble trying to obtain it."

There must have been something in his tone that made Cobra Commander reconsider for a moment, for he settled back and gazed on with guarded suspicion. Mizikaki gave a small smile of. . . Relief? Nobody quite knew. All that was available was that his hands were suddenly shaking again, his eyes just slightly wide. It was almost as though he'd seen a ghost. He swallowed, coughing into his fist, and Baroness had an odd sensation creep over her. Mizikaki never acted this way. Whatever he was about to demonstrate was not going to pleasant. That's what her gut was telling her.

"Lock up the blast doors and close the partitions, if you may. I would appreciate not letting my gift have an easy escape."

After the doors closed, the constant rattle of the chains ceased. It was odd then, the silence that fell over the room, and Mizikaki pulled a gun out of its' holster on his backside, but not yet aiming at his self-proclaimed gift. The troopers stared at it uneasily, shifting nervously, wondering why they were so close to the gift and why everyone else was a healthy distance away. The silence was pregnant with a lot of whispered promises and threats, all nonverbal, that were issued from the gift.

"Let me go." It was all that the gift said. The voice was cold, though, and threatening. Amazing, seeing as it. . . So strange. . .

"No." Came Mizikaki's stark response, voice steeling itself, the handgun he held twitching slightly, as if he wanted to shoot her but was trying incredibly hard not to.

What came then was a shock, because. . . The troopers died. That was the easiest way to put it without anything giving it a sugary image, but the method of how was utterly invisible. A sharp crack, a splash of blood, and then this gift not only came in an incredibly unusual package, but also a blood-covered one. Walking forward, with the chains rattling around behind, all of the leashes suddenly became taught. Mizikaki, his reason for shaking now revealed, stared down at the gift as it stared back up at him, blood dripping from just about every orifice from its' body. . .

"Let me go." Came the threat again, now much more restrained and tightly controlled, as though it were having difficulty not committing murder again. Those eyes. . .

"No." Mizikaki spoke sternly again, and the chain leash that bound her neck, so heavy and thick, suddenly snapped. A bit of chain swung down in front of the gift, reminding them that it still wore a metal collar. The figure shifted then, one hand wrapping around the chain leash that still kept its' hands from being freed. Giving a few experimental tugs, it suddenly returned a harsh glare to Mizikaki.

"I won't ask again."

"The answer is no."

With a monumental effort on the gift, the rest of the chains suddenly snapped off, and it was lunging forward, a glitter in its' eyes, telling that it would slaughter everything just to be free once more. . .

Mizikaki was hefted off of his feet and into the air, body beginning to twitch just as the troopers' had, his teeth suddenly gritting. He had one weapon that the troopers did not, however. He raised the gun, pulling the trigger twice. One shot missed, but the other landed squarely in the shoulder. The doctor suddenly dropped, and crouching into a perfect roll, snapped up and delivered a few sharp blows to the figure. A sharp cry of pain later, the gift lay on the floor, unconscious and the danger over. Raising his hand to open the partitions and the blast doors, Mizikaki had a medical team all set and ready to extract the gift. The troopers were also carried away. Every single piece of them.

While the medical team went about scrubbing the floor with disinfectants and cleaning supplies, Mizikaki turned around to look at Cobra Commander. All throughout the demonstration the Commander had been silent, and now that it was quiet again, Mizikaki had a small glitter in his eyes. Rubbing his stomach, as if he was still in pain, the doctor let the silence settle.

"You have my interest, Mizikaki. Explain to me how you know of this. . . Gift."

Mizikaki grinned, running his hand through his hair once more, "Commander," He started, his voice slightly hoarse, "I do believe that would fall under the private-quarters meeting."

Detro flowed to his feet then, an expression of both fear and anger held on his face, "Madness! How would we be able to control such bloodlust?! Cobra Commander, see reason, I beg of you--"

"Silence, Destro," Cobra Commander said, all without removing his gaze from Mizikaki, "the doctor has brought me something useful, and I intend to use it."

Destro fell back into his seat, grinding his teeth together, and he heard Baroness whisper, "It is a monster." Which wasn't far from the truth at all. It was a monster. A horrible, terrible, bloodthirsty one.

"An interesting choice for a gift, Mizikaki. . . But one that I will accept."

Mizikaki smiled, something truly chilling and knowing, as if there was something up his sleeve he was refusing to reveal, "I thank you, Commander. I'll help with the domestication."

* * *

_Seraphim of Darkness: _I make my inevitable return after finally deciding that the original plotline for Spawn Of The Devil was much too complex and conflicted. So I decided this was going to be slightly easier for me to write about. Much, much easier for everyone to understand as well. So feel free to drop a review after you're done reading!

_Inspiration for the chapter_: "Not To Late" -- Three Day's Grace


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